That Special Fish
by Bella Martinii
Summary: People called me a genius. I  worked for the FBI, had an IQ of 187 with three PhDs and two BAs under the belt, and I knew the answer to everything. Well, almost everything. There was still something I didn't know... and that was how to be happy. ReidxOC
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

John Lennon once said, "_When I was five years old, my mom told me that happiness was key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down 'happy'. They told me I didn't understand the assignment. I told them they didn't understand life."_

I don't think John Lennon and I would have gotten along very well.

Our brains were clearly functioning on completely different wavelengths. I wasn't afraid to admit that I did not understand his principles.

To me, happiness didn't even fully exist. I mean… how could it? When it wasn't our socio-economic situation, it was our inner struggle to find out who we really were and how we belonged in this world. And if it wasn't that either, then it was probably because we were too greedy and too preoccupied by little useless things to even bother about the bigger picture.

And what _was_ the bigger picture anyway?

Even I did not know.

And trust me, I had an IQ of a hundred eighty-seven. In our world, that was considered fairly impressive.

But wait— let's go back to the subject.

We did not want to be happy.

At least, those were my thoughts.

That was the conclusion I had come up with, in any case. We were incapable of finding happiness because there was something in us, something deep and troubling, that surfaced whenever we came anywhere close to reaching true, unconditional happiness. Humans were made for darkness.

It didn't matter if we pushed that darkness away; if we pretended to be happy. Because deep inside, we knew it was still there. We'd pretend it wasn't there, but it was. Oh yes… it was.

Each one of us had a different way of dealing with that darkness.

Some ignored it and continued with their lives without ever understanding why they'd feel so empty, so incomplete.

Some would act happy and lose themselves in their own lie for the rest of their living days.

Some were overcome by that darkness and succumbed to it. They became shadowy creatures.

And then there were those who studied that darkness, who fought it, in order to comprehend it… so they could make the world a better place... a happier one.

I was one of those people.

And then—

—You had the people who puzzled me.

Those even _I_ could not comprehend.

And I envied them with my whole heart.

I envied them because they were the ones that had uncovered the truth. They understood the meaning of life – if there even was one to begin with. (But that was another subject for another day.) They were the elite of the world. And there was just no explanation for it.

They just knew.

They were just… happy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

**Thank you guys very much for taking the chance to read this. You guys are awesome. A little review would always be welcome. :)**


	2. One: Coffee Please

**Part One: Spencer.**

_October 13__th__, 2005._

_Hi Mom,  
><em>

_I hope you're doing well, I heard the weather is amazing back in Las Vegas. Words cannot describe how much I miss home, especially at the moment. Fall is beautiful here in Quantico, and it's not even cold yet. You know how much I love fall… I wish you were here to enjoy it with me. The leaves are turning into different warm colors, and it really is stunning. _

_We haven't had very difficult cases as of lately, so I must apologize. I don't particularly have any interesting stories to tell you—although you probably think it's better that way. I know you hate how much I work on cases like these. _

_On another note, I started reading "_Aristotle's Theory of the Syllogism"_ by G. Patzig. It is a rather interesting yet odd read, I haven't finished it yet (although I will soon) and I shall tell you all my thoughts, as I'm sure you'd be interested in hearing them (as usual). As soon as I'm done with that one I think I'll read "_Grounding For the Metaphysics of Morals"_ by Immanuel Kant. I read the preface in Barnes & Noble the other day. It had immediately captivated me. The preface alone was already touching the subject of moral and natural philosophy. _

_From the top of my head_, "All rational knowledge is either material or formal: the former considers some object, the latter is concerned only with the form of the understanding and of the reason itself, and with the universal laws of thought in general without distinction of its objects. Formal philosophy is called logic. Material philosophy, however, has to do with determinate objects and the laws to which they are subject, is again twofold; for these laws are either laws of nature or of freedom. The science of the former is physics, that of the latter, ethics; they are also called natural philosophy and moral philosophy respectively. Logic cannot have an empirical part; that is, a part in which the universal and necessary laws of thought should rest on grounds taken from experience; otherwise it would not be logic, i.e., a canon for the understanding or the reason, valid for all thought, and capable of demonstration. Natural and moral philosophy, on the contrary, can each have their empirical part, since the former has to determine the laws of nature as an object of experience; the latter the laws of the human will, so far as it is affected by nature: the former, however, being laws according to which everything does happen; the latter, laws according to which everything ought to happen. Ethics, however, must also consider the conditions under which what ought to happen frequently does not."

_Fascinating isn't it? I can't wait to read it all._

_Anyway, I won't carry on any longer; I'm a little late. Hotch will not be happy._

_I love you and I wish I were with you,_

_Always,_

_Spencer._

**Chapter One: Coffee Please**

This was not happening.

Not again.

I sighed and rolled over on to my stomach. I punched my pillow lightly and settled my head back in it. I was never a heavy sleeper but this? This was ridiculous. This was the eleventh night in a row and I was getting sick of this.

I knew that ten to twenty percent of the population in America suffered from insomnia, but I'd never imagined myself as part of that lucky little group. Only thirty-five percent of Americans slept eight or more hours per night during weekdays and sixty percent of the children, especially teenagers, were tired during the day because of this. Fifteen percent of elderly people only stayed in stage one of sleep, otherwise known as light sleep, making them more sensitive to light, noise and jet lag. This also later caused depression, anxiety and grief, thus causing sleeplessness—

Goodness, Spence, you had to stop over-thinking about these things. I was there lying in bed and all I could think about were percentage numbers I had read in a sociology book eight years ago.

I sighed as I flipped my pillow over. The cold side made my cheek tingle and I tried emptying my brain of any thoughts.

…

Yeah.

That was definitely _not_ going to work. It was difficult for a person like me to stop thinking. Well, it was impossible for _anyone_ to stop thinking. If they told themselves to stop thinking, the mere thought of halting thought was a thought itself. It was a vicious cycle. But what was even more ludicrous was the fact that I hadn't been able to catch up on any sleep recently and I didn't know why. I had not undergone any severe trauma as of recently and Mom was doing okay… well. As okay as any person diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia could be. Not a day passed by without my worrying over my future condition. I knew that this type of schizophrenia could be transmitted genetically. I wondered if one day, I'd ever become like my mother. I didn't want to think about it. And yet – I couldn't help myself. I was apprehensive. Maybe this was the cause of my anxiety? It was possible. But then again… the BAU wasn't really helping me either now was it? I'd been on the team since I was twenty-one. I was twenty-four now and still— it wasn't getting any better. I thought I'd be more and more used to the things I saw but no. Every case was just as shocking, as horrific, as unimaginable as the last. I understood Gideon's departure. Too much cruelty in one lifespan could eat you alive. And then there was the question of—

Oh God.

I was doing it again.

I had to stop getting lost in my train of thought! Thinking too much could really be unhealthy.

I blew out another sigh and turned sideways. This was not working. I turned around and checked the time on my alarm clock. The bright red numbers blared obnoxiously bright through the darkness of my room. They acted as the source of light I desperately needed at night. I was too afraid to close my eyes in darkness. I always had been and I always would be.

The numbers read four-twenty.

I turned around again. And closed my eyes shut for what felt like the millionth attempt to fall asleep.

The thought of morning drawing near depressed me more than anything else. I hadn't been in the best shape lately and I knew that today would not be any different. It was exhausting… trying to appear fine in front of the team. I didn't want to share my troubles with them. Especially not with Morgan or Garcia. I knew they were the ones who'd worry the most and I didn't want to look weak in front of them. I didn't want to be the young kid who couldn't keep up with the heavy rhythm of the BAU. I didn't want to disappoint Gideon, who had taught everything he possibly could. And Hotch. I certainly didn't want to look frail in front of him. Oh no, Spence. You couldn't allow yourself to slip up in front of Aaron Hotchner.

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Garcia was on to something. I knew she was. But then again, she always treated me like her little brother; she was nosier than the others. It was something I both loved and hated about her.

My breathing slowed down.

She had to get off my back…

Everyone had…

I was fine…

…

Just… splendid.

…

My eyes shot open.

I blinked.

OH GOD.

I swiveled around and looked at the time.

The bright red numbers burnt through my irises and I looked away quickly. The numbers were still engraved behind my eyelids. I had to blink several times to make them go away.

Eighty-thirty.

Ah, that was fine. I still had loads of time t—

I did a double take.

I swiveled back again and made sure to squint carefully this time before I'd go permanently blind.

Eight thirty-one.

The information sunk in.

Oh God.

I felt my insides drop and an overwhelming feeling of dread began taking their place.

Before giving a second thought, I flung my bed covers over to the side, jumped out of bed and sprinted towards my bathroom.

OH GOOOOD.

I was late.

I was _SO_ late.

_I was never late!_

I must have dozed off through the alarm. That was the only explanation.

OH GOD.

I managed to strip down, hop in the shower, get dressed and brush my teeth in the space of ten minutes. I grabbed my keys and sprinted for the door as quickly as possible.

I was so freaking late, Hotch was going to _end_ me.

I froze.

Oh GOD.

HOTCH.

I ran a little faster and was nearly at the door when I took the corner of my narrow hallway a little too quickly and stubbed my toe on a coffee table.

I yelled.

SWEET HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS.

I howled in pain and grabbed my foot. It seemed that a time like this, the only reaction my brain could come up with was making me hop around my tiny entrance hall, holding the source of my pain in my hands and making myself look like an absolute imbecile. As my toe's agony quickly subsided I looked down to inspect it, looking for any considerable damage. Apart from my unclipped toenails, there was nothing that looked out of the ordinary.

Good. The last thing I needed was a broken toe. God, I was such a wimp when it came down to these kinds of things… No _wonder_ I never managed to complete the obstacle course during my academic training for the FBI. And I mean—

Hang on.

I looked back down again.

I gasped out of shock.

Could my day get any worse?

I had no socks on.

Or shoes, for that matter.

Good God!

I threw my head back and groaned before rushing back towards my bedroom. What was wrong with me this morning? This never happened to me before.

I, Doctor Spencer Reid, boy genius, had forgotten to wear socks and shoes. I was about to go to work barefooted.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I pulled my sock drawer open and looked down.

What I saw almost gave me a heart attack: there was only one pair of clean socks left.

…And they were matching.

THIS.

This…

…This could not be happening to me.

I rapidly opened my underwear drawer and dug through my undergarments with—and I'm ashamed to say this—slightly shaking hands, looking for a straying sock that could've gotten mixed up. I pushed and fiddled and dug some more.

I came up dry.

Crumb.

I took the pair of matching socks between my thumb and index finger. To me, it was the epitome of bad luck and I did not want to be contaminated by the hapless state of these two matching socks. I threw them on my bed and quickly looked through my dirty laundry basket. Maybe there was one that was relatively clean enough for me to wear today… only one. That was all I needed…

Goodness gracious, there _had_ to be one!

I grabbed a few and sniffed them each.

I cringed and nearly gagged.

GOODNESS.

Okay… definitely _not_.

I chucked all of them back in the laundry basket and turned around to stare warily at my pair of matching socks. I slipped them on slowly and stepped into my favorite brown leather shoes.

I looked down at my feet one more time.

If I was going to die on this day, October thirteenth (A FRIDAY OUT OF ALL DAYS) at least I knew I could blame it on the socks.

—TSF—

"_Conference delayed. Strauss wanted to see Hotch. 1 hour. Doesn't change the fact that you weren't here on time this morning."_

I was one block away from the bureau when I received the message. I had never walked so quickly in my life and when I read Morgan's text I blew out a sigh of relief.

Okay. So God was kind of on my side today. Kind of. I felt a little better.

I walked towards my usual Starbucks like I did every morning on my way to work. It was right next to the bureau's building and I usually got my coffee there. It was cozy and convenient. Slightly expensive—but then again, what wasn't these days? The music was nice and it was one of the biggest Starbucks in town. It was three floors high and the top one had little quarters with the comfiest armchairs. It was one of my favorite places.

It was now half past nine so all the commuters were already at work, the atmosphere was more relaxed and the morning buzz had died down. Gentle lounge music was playing and the comforting smell of brewing coffee brought a smile to my lips as I entered. Nobody was queuing and I recognized the girl who usually served me early in the morning. She was wiping a few tables clean and looked up when she heard the bell chime.

She smiled brightly at me and hurriedly made her way back towards the counter.

"Morning!" she greeted me with a wide smile. She was one of my favorites. She was always happy, no matter what time it was and was never fazed by the outrageous number of commuters who would send glares her way every morning. We would small talk now and then; it often occurred as I'd wait for my coffee to be prepared, or when she wiped tables clean while I'd read a book in one of the armchairs. She was completely open and was often interested in the books I read and the papers I wrote.

Her curiosity and thirst for knowledge was something I liked about her.

"Hi." I said. She didn't even ask for my order. She knew exactly what I wanted. I ordered the same thing every morning for the past five years. Even if we were in the middle of summer, I always had a gingerbread latte. It was the ideal blend of an espresso with steamed milk and gingerbread syrup, topped with a pinch of nutmeg, cinnamon and vanilla powder.

That combo was like an orgasm in my mouth.

She was alone at the counter, not surprising considering the time, and was already steaming up the milk for me. I looked at my surroundings as I waited patiently. There were a few people here and there, either reading the paper or meeting up with someone for morning coffee. I enjoyed this particular atmosphere a lot.

"You're late today." She spoke up. I turned around to come face to face with the huge coffee machines. I shuffled sideways to get a look at her. She was pouring the milk in a mug. She looked up at me and smiled. "Why's that?"

There she was, talking to me again. She just had to know everything. I liked it. Not many people even bothered asking me how I was or what I was up to.

"Complications." I merely answered.

She threw a hand up in the air and made a gesture that was clearly mocking what I had just said. Apparently, she was in the mood of "Let's-make-fun-of-Spence-today".

I frowned and smiled at the same time.

"What." I said with a quick chuckle.

"You're making that sound so serious…" she said. "What. One of your lecture's got cancelled?" she said.

She didn't know I worked for the FBI. She knew I was studying for a Bachelor's degree in Philosophy but that was it. She thought I was a regular student.

"Yeah, something like that," was all I said. I didn't want to arouse any suspicion, and she didn't doubt me for a second. She sprinkled all of my toppings and handed me the mug. I gave her the money and thanked her before taking the stairs towards my favorite armchair by the window on the third floor. I took a sip and grabbed the book I was currently reading: "_Aristotle's Theory of the Syllogism"_ by G. Patzig.

Thirty minutes later, I was almost done with it when a light voice interrupted me.

"I don't know how you do it."

I looked up.

It was the girl who worked here, except she wasn't wearing her green apron anymore. Her shift probably finished at ten. She had a vanilla Frapuccino in her hand and plopped down in the armchair in front of me. She didn't seem to mind the fact that she had rudely interrupted my reading session, but I somehow wasn't irritated. I enjoyed her company.

I had secretly profiled her the minute I had seen her, nine months ago. Her tan indicated that she wasn't from Virginia, but some place warmer. Sunnier. She was quite tall and extremely thin but her shoulders were slightly broader than average; that lead me to think she was a swimmer. Her accent wasn't entirely from here, it contained a slight tinge from somewhere else but it was so little I couldn't figure out where it was from. She was one of those people who had what I liked to call an international accent; it was one that resembled nothing and yet didn't feel entirely out of place. Her parents were probably of different nationalities and I was willing to bet she wasn't born in the US. Her fingers were long and delicate – she was a pianist. And I guessed she had been one for a long time seeing her extensive knowledge of classical and jazz music.

Her long dark blonde hair, the color of sand, was in great condition. She had no split ends, which made me realize that she had never dyed it before. She was obviously more than happy with the way she looked and wasn't too fussed about making an effort. She was happy with herself and she showed it.

Before I could think of anything more, a hand appeared in front of my face. Fingers tickled my nose and I could spot clean fingernails, painted in different colors. Her quirkiness shook me out of my thoughts. I brought my eyes up to her light grey ones.

"Oi. Don't zone out on me." She said as she continued waving her hand in front of my face. I pushed it away with a smile. She really had issues with people's personal bubbles.

"I wasn't." I told her innocently.

"So…" she said, taking another sip. "How do you do it?" she said, her eyes landed on my book which I had now bookmarked and placed on my lap.

"Do what?"

She shrugged quickly. "Read books like that." She pointed at it. I was momentarily confused by her body language. Why was she shrugging when she knew what she was going to say? A shrug was a nonverbal communication that was performed by lifting both shoulders up as an indication that the person either didn't know the answer to a question or simply didn't care at all. It was also used when that person was ignoring someone else's question and was often accentuated by the raise of eyebrows and/or an exaggerated frown.

She was doing none of those so why did she shrug?

She was a strange girl.

"It's quite simple." I told her. "I went to school and learnt how to read."

She rolled her eyes; she clearly wasn't amused by my poor sarcasm.

"I don't even know what syllogism means." She pointed out and before she even had time to start a new sentence, I cut her off.

"Syllogism is quite simple really. It is a deductive inference," I noted her already blank expression, "a form of logical reasoning if you like, consisting of two premises and one conclusion… all of which are categorical propositions. The subject of the conclusion is the minor term and its predicate the major term; the middle term occurs in both premises but not the conclusion. It goes from the general to the particular. If A then B. If B then C. So if A then C. In the "_Prior Analytics"_, Aristotle defines the syllogism as "_a discourse in which, certain things having been supposed, something different from the things supposed results of necessity because these things are so"_." I was about to continue talking, but she had interrupted me.

"Example?" she asked me.

Words flew out of my mouth instantly.

"For example, all humans are mortal… major premise. I am human… the minor premise. So I am mortal… the conclusion."

She nodded in understanding and seemed to like the subject. This was another thing I liked about her. Most of the people I knew would always sigh and look up at the ceiling whenever I'd start spilling facts about topics I personally enjoyed talking about. This girl, on the other hand, always stared at me avidly, listening to every word I told her and trying to keep up as much as possible. She didn't always understand what I said—which, mind you, was understandable seeing as I _did_ work for the FBI, and I _did _have an IQ of a hundred and eighty-seven—but that didn't stop her from listening.

She took another sip as she thought about what I just said.

"But…" she paused and I waited for her patiently. I was always interested in the things she had to say, no matter how simple her arguments were, it was always nice to have a conversation with someone who was generally interested in what you were saying. It was quite a rare occurrence for me. "But that logic is flawed."

I smiled.

"How so?" I questioned.

"Well…" she looked pensive. "I mean—like… this one for example." She put her cup down and leant forward. "A dog has four legs." She paused, and I knew exactly where she was going before she had even started. I had heard this exact argument a hundred times before. "A cat also has four legs. So…" she frowned. "So, a dog is a cat? See, that doesn't work."

I nodded.

"You're right." I said. She seemed confused but happy nonetheless; I could tell she enjoyed keeping up with my rhythm. "And I'm reading this book to understand in how this logic can simultaneously work and not work." She grabbed her cup again and took a really long sip. "Of course, what I just told you is the basic principle. It becomes much more complicated."

"I don't doubt that." She said with a laugh. "What made you choose philosophy?" she suddenly asked me.

"The human mind… it's an endless wonder. And I wanted to know everything I possible could about it," was all I could come up with. She nodded and smiled to herself. She seemed to like that answer. "What would you like to study later?" I asked her. I knew she was still in high school. She seemed like she was about sixteen or seventeen.

She shrugged again before replying with "Architecture."

She did it again. She shrugged. Yet she knew the answer.

She loved talking to others and talking about what they did and who they were… but— she didn't particularly enjoy talking about herself. The shrug was to make herself seem unimportant, nonchalant. She didn't want the focus on herself, she forced it on others instead. I was curious to know what made her do that.

"Architecture, huh." I said. The subject had never crossed my mind but I did do some research on the topic out of mere curiosity. I had read all seven hundred pages of Cambridge professor emeritus David Watkins' _A History of Western Architecture_. I had remembered every single detail ranging from the Great Ziggurat of Ur in Muqaiyir, Iraq built circa 2125BC to the German Pavilion in Barcelona, Spain by Mies Van der Rohe built in 1929 for the International Exposition.

But that was beside the point.

I was about to ask her why she had a preference for architecture when she suddenly snatched my book from my lap. I raised my eyebrows.

"So… you enjoy reading this?" she questioned.

I nodded. "Yes. Very much so." She made a face. It didn't seem like a very impressed one.

"Is there a problem?" I asked in an amused tone; I played along.

She shook her head.

"But you only just skim through it… right?" She questioned, flicking through the pages.

It was my time to shake my head no.

"I read it as avidly as I'd read an exam question." I told her.

She stared at me and froze.

She then blinked.

"That's not possible." She deadpanned. "Y-You…" she frowned. "I sometimes watch you when you read and… your finger. It flies across the page!" the thought of it seemed incredulous to her. I decided to ignore the fact that she just admitted she'd stare at me while I'd read. It was a little disturbing, but at the same time… a little cute.

I laughed. "I read twenty-thousand words a minute." I told her. "It's because I'm…"

I stopped. I didn't want to blatantly tell her I was a genius. It was fine in front of my team because they were used to it and that was the reason the FBI hired me in the first place, but that kind of statement in front of a teenaged girl was out of norms. She would've taken me for a pompous freak.

"Because you're some kind of boy genius?" she said with a laugh before she snorted by accident. Her eyes widened and she slapped one hand across her face, hiding her mouth. I stared at her and released a bark of laughter. It was the funniest thing I had seen in a while. It wasn't so much the snorting that I found amusing, but her reaction that ensued. It seemed snorting was not a daily occurrence in her life.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed as I bent over and continued laughing. She giggled along a little. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! That was the most unattractive thing ever!" She didn't seem embarrassed at all, but on the contrary, she was just surprised at herself for having snorted in my face so unpredictably. I continued to find it hilarious. I had to take in a few breaths to calm myself down but I couldn't. It was too funny.

I was having a huge fit of laughter and she soon enough joined it.

"It's fine…" I said, gripping my stomach; it had begun to ache with all the laughing.

(Side-note: That was a good thing. Laughing was the only kind of work out my abs got.)

I tried keeping a straight face as she glared at me, but I couldn't keep it up for long and neither could she. Before I knew it, we started laughing again. Except I tried to keep mine silent… which made it even worse.

"Stop it!" she said with a laugh before playfully slapping me on the knee. I did as I was told and straightened up. My book had fallen from my lap during our fit and I bent over to grab it. I then settled back into my armchair. I hadn't laughed so hard in a while… the last time I cracked up this hard was probably when Morgan tripped down the steps of the jet and fell down to the ground. That was over a month ago.

"Okay… okay." I held up both my hands in mock surrender.

"God, how gross. " she muttered.

"No, not at all." I said. "I found it… adorable." I stopped short as I realized what I had just said. She paid no attention to it and just chuckled. She finished her Frapuccino (rather loudly, if I might point out) and checked her watch.

"I gotta go." She declared before getting up and flashing me a smile. "I've got swimming practice."

Bingo. I knew she was a swimmer.

I wanted to tell her I knew that, but I kept quiet and nodded understandingly.

"It was nice talking to you!" she said as she started walking away backwards. "As usual!"

I smiled slightly. "Thanks for the coffee," I said as I lifted my now empty mug at her.

She bowed down in a theatrical way and laughed. "It was my pleasure, your highness." She declared before turning around and hopping down the stairs. "See you on Monday!"

I waved lightly at her but she was already gone.

A few people having coffee on the top floor looked at me out of curiosity before quickly returning to their cell phones or their daily paper.

—TSF—

I quietly slipped into the conference room. I was a little over five minutes late and I knew this wasn't good. Five minutes with Morgan was five minutes. Five minutes with Hotch, on the other hand, was pretty close to an hour. JJ and Prentiss gave me quick looks but refocused their attention quickly back to Hotch who was looking at me, waiting to settle down. I pressed my lips together, silently signaling a quick apology to him and he curtly nodded. He then looked at JJ.

"Let's get started, then." He declared crisply. "JJ. What do you have for us?"

JJ blinked and grabbed the stack of files in front of her in a hurried manner. She stood up quickly and began handing out the files for each and every one of us. I slipped her a quick smile as she gave me the file but she didn't notice it. She seemed more flustered than usual today and I wondered why. I made a mental note to mention it to her later. I didn't like seeing JJ distressed. If she was feeling down— then her pessimism had a direct influence on my own feelings. My smile faded away as I leant back in my seat. I crossed my right leg on my left one nonchalantly and rested the file on my inner thigh. I flipped it open and began studying it instantly.

I stared.

Three years in the BAU did not prepare me for the gruesome photographs that I was suddenly faced with. I instinctively looked away because their brutality was too nauseating. My eyes met with those of Prentiss and for a brief second we shared a moment of mutual disgust and fear. She quickly regained her composure and bent over to skim over the rest of the photographs. I did the same and turned off the little part in my brain that made me sensitive to the ghastly lacerations and gashes that had destroyed the victims' bodies, reducing them to a mere heap of broken limbs and ripped flesh.

Twenty-four year old Spencer had now been temporarily shut down and was currently being replaced by Doctor Reid.

It still didn't change the fact that I was looking at the most atrocious murders I had ever laid eyes on.

I looked back up when JJ started speaking up. She grabbed the monitor's remote and clicked it several times. Four faces appeared on the screen.

"Jessie Scott. Candice Wolf. Natalie Catt. Grace Doyle." she said. My eyes intuitively flew over each of their facial features at the speed of light. I studied every single eyelash, the size of their nostrils, the crease in their frown, the curve of their nose, the whiteness of their teeth, the state of their hair… I analyzed everything in a matter of seconds. They all had grey, blue eyes, a small, narrow nose, prominent cheekbones, mouths with long corners that curved upward and sandy blonde hair. They were all extremely beautiful women. None of them could've been older than nineteen.

A pang of regret hit me.

They hadn't even reached their twenties and they were already dead.

I locked my feelings back up in that oh-so-special-FBI compartment of my brain and focused my attention back on what JJ was saying.

"They were all found dead four days ago and within a twenty mile radius of the BAU." She stated. "All the bodies were found in dumpsters near these different sites: a playground, a local bookshop, a public pool and a viewpoint of the city—"

"Fairly random sites. There really isn't much of a connection." Morgan stated. I nodded in agreement; I was trying to find any kind of link but came up with nothing. Prentiss seemed stuck too and chose to listen to JJ for more information.

JJ clicked the remote and four new images appeared. The pretty smiling faces of the four girls were callously replaced by the same ones I had just seen in the folder she had given out. I tried not to cringe, I didn't want to seem like it was affecting me… but… they were indescribable. I wasn't the best person at giving rundowns of what I'd see, and I definitely could not translate into words the cruelty and the inhumanity of the human being—no, the monster—who had wrecked these poor girls' bodies. And believe me, _that_ was an understatement.

There was a deep silence in the conference room—

—Until Morgan decided to state the obvious.

"Definite overkill."

We all looked up from our files and gave him a look. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose.

I bent over my folder a little more and squinted harder at one of the victims. It was Candice.

"Guys, check out Candice Wolf's left hand. It seems…" I leant in a little more to make sure. "It seems she's missing her ring finger." The others followed suit. "And it was done very meticulously… with care."

"Alright, so the overkill would mean extreme anger—someone who would stab and stab and stab the victim over and over again even if it meant causing post-mortem wounds." Prentiss said. "The desire to cut the ring finger straight off without any damage to it shows that it has some significance to the unsub. A romantic one, perhaps."

I was already examining the other victims as she spoke.

JJ spoke up, clicking her remote and showing zoom-in pictures of the victims' bodies.

"Candice is the only one with a missing body part. But all the other victims apart from her were—"

"Completely eviscerated." Rossi murmured, more to himself it seemed. I looked at him only to find him stroking his chin and staring at the images on the screen. "Disemboweled."

Hotch wasted no time. "So the unsub is doing this as a means of sexual excitement for himself."

"And he wants to shock whoever finds the body. He wants to scare them." Morgan added.

"And not particularly for media attention… the thought of someone finding such a horribly tortured and disfigured body makes the unsub feel over the moon." Prentiss finished.

I chewed on my bottom lip and clasped some of the skin between my teeth. It was a bad habit I had whenever I felt uneasy. I tore a thin piece of skin off my lip. All these girls looked exactly the same. They all had laugh lines on their faces and they were younger than twenty. They were all happy teenagers who had everything to live for. I couldn't understand why someone would kill them.

"Just one question, Hotch." Morgan said. "Why is this an FBI case?"

"Two more disemboweled bodies were found in North Carolina. Same MO. They were found four months ago, and the connection was made yesterday." Hotch answered immediately. "Unsub crossed state lines. He's now ours to deal with." Morgan nodded. Hotch looked at all of us and closed his folder. This meant it was time for us to go visit the families and the rooms of the victims. "Alright, Prentiss and Rossi you go to take a look at the crime scenes while Reid and Morgan go to the victims' homes. JJ, you're with me; we're heading down to the local PD."

And that was it. We were off. I grabbed my messenger back and slung it over my shoulder. I pushed my chair back and stood up. I was about to close my folder shut when at the last minute I took one ultimate look at the victims' faces. I felt sad.

I closed it and followed Prentiss out the door.

It was only as I got in the Chevrolet SUV that I realized those girls reminded me of someone with a similar face.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

**Hello my lovelies! First and foremost, I'd like to thank the three of you who reviewed for my prologue. That was immensely sweet of you. As a fanfic reader I know that there isn't always much to say for _just_ a prologue, so I do appreciate your input a lot.**

**Here's chapter one! I hope you guys liked it. I am aware that writing in Reid's POV will be very, very, challenging, not to mention risky but that _is_ why I'm doing it. I'm sure my interpretation of his thoughts will not always please everyone, but this _is_ how I picture him so uh...yeah. I forgot where I was going with that sentence. Oops. Awkward.**

**Bear in mind that I am not following the events that happened on the actual TV show. I will keep some important events that have happened in the series, but I am not following the timeline at all- thus why Gideon and Elle aren't there and are replaced by Prentiss and Rossi instead. Even if it's only taking place in 2005. I wish it to be that way, so you have no other choice than to comply, haha! :)**

**Thank you so much for reading and please tell me what you guys thought of this chapter. I would be honored and would really appreciate it!**


	3. Two: No Milkshake For Lily

_October 22__nd__, 2005._

_Hi Mom,_

_I hope you're alright._

_The weather here in Quantico is absolutely despicable at the moment. I swear it's making me look all sickly and pale and… oh goodness, I'm looking at myself in the mirror right now and I look absolutely appalling. Seriously, you don't know how much I wish I were in Vegas right now, enjoying the sun. I saw the weather reports on TV. You lucky girl, you._

_Okay, I know by now you're probably wondering about this case right about now._

_We've finally established a profile at the BAU. We'd been working on it for days, but so far here's what we've got: we're dealing with a middle-aged man, he's probably between the ages of thirty-five and forty-eight. Given the angle of the blow to the victims' heads, which isn't enough to kill them but sufficient to render them unconscious, we can safely determine that he hits them from the front, which eliminates any sort of blitz attack from behind. You remember what a blitz attack is, right? Just to refresh your memory it's the delivery of overpowering force, usually performed in a manner of surprise so as to incapacitate the victim or deliver a fatal blow. This means that our unsub can't possibly be someone elderly or a woman simply because of the force of the blow._

_In addition to this, we think our unsub is local; he knows Quantico like the back of his hand. He's been dumping the bodies at random sites, yes, but sites void of any tourists or curious onlookers. Also, we do believe we are dealing with someone who usually keeps on the down low, who doesn't bring attention to his everyday self. The killer side of him, an alter ego of some sorts, is his way of feeling the success he is so often denied in his normal life. His pent up anger and rage, stemming from his obvious inexistence in real life, is directed to women who perhaps remind him of an ex-lover, a relationship gone wrong. A person who constantly reminds him of how much of a failure he truly is._

_Oh and one more thing, although our unsub is quiet and discreet on the outside, the boiling rage he often feels on the inside can easily break free during petty arguments such as who stole his pen or someone stepping on his foot by accident. He has anger-management issues but does a very good job at hiding him._

_We also think this unsub is incapable of feeling any sense of guilt, which makes him a prime target on our wanted psychopath list._

_I do not wish to trouble you any longer with any more morbid details about this killer. The profile goes on and on but I only gave you the most important details. It's all I think about. It's quite sad, really… this whole case has been plaguing my mind ever since we started it and I can't think of anything else. I see Morgan and the others and all I can think of is how we're unable to solve this case. I step outside my apartment building on my way to work and I dread the phone call we'd inevitably get, informing us of a new body in another dumpster._

_I can't seem to find an escape to it all._

_The only consolation I have found recently is in the smile of a nice young girl, this barista at my usual Starbucks. She's happy all the time and she seems so carefree and spontaneous._

_I envy her, mother. I wish I could be more like her._

_Anyway, I have to go._

_I love you and I wish I were with you,_

_Always,_

_Spencer._

**Chapter Two: No Milkshake For Lily**

Thunder rumbled as I rushed out of the FBI building.

It was seven in the evening and the clouds were quickly gathering over our heads. They looked menacing and were traveling in the sky at an alarmingly fast speed. A strong gust of wind blew my hair to the side and I popped the collar of my coat up, to protect my neck and throat. I loved this kind of weather when I was in the warm comfort of my own home.

This weather when I was outside?

Yeah. Not so much.

The impending storm was making the sky darker and darker. It was about to rain any second now.

I started walking home, gradually accelerating when the wind picked up.

It had been another long day at work and we had had absolutely no new leads whatsoever. Every clue we had found so far had led us to dead ends. And all the trails we had, had run cold by now. Nine days had gone by since the last killings, and we were nowhere near catching our guy. We hadn't even given out the profile yet; I had never felt so depressed in my life. I tried squeezing out as much information from the trusted maps as much as possible, but I couldn't figure anything out. The dumpsites were chosen at random. And there was absolutely no connection between our victims. I felt helpless. It was a feeling I wasn't used to.

"Hey!"

Morgan told me that, judging by the violence and rage mirrored by the annihilation of the victims' bodies, another killing would probably happen soon enough, and with a little luck the killer would leave more clues this time. He said our unsub was rash and unstable. He would strike again soon… he said. I wasn't so sure… the unsub had paid close attention to what he left behind. So far we had found absolutely no traces of DNA and he had been careful to dump the bodies in secluded places, places no one in their right mind would have stumbled upon. And the unsub had killed six people already… six people – and we only discovered that nine days ago. The signs were not good. The killer was organized, meticulous and hungry for another kill. He was smarter than we were giving him credit for.

It was the worse feeling, knowing another innocent person was going to die, and not being able to do a goddamn thing about it. I didn't know what to do—there was nothing I _could _do. And that was the feeling I couldn't bring myself to bear. I know I wasn't the happiest person in the world, but this latest development was definitely not going to make me cheerful.

"Hello?"

I felt stupid. Here I was, a useless human being, just waiting for another human being to face her impending doom… and I couldn't do anything about it. People's lives were being taken with no reason… just for one's selfish greed, for his personal pleasure. I clenched my fists before releasing a frustrated sigh. I grasped my messenger back and dug my hand in it to reach for my headphones and my iPod. I couldn't deal with the hustle and bustle of the people around me all rushing to get back home after work. I couldn't deal with the useless chatter about what they had planned for tonight, and what kind of date they were on the night before, or even what they were going to cook for dinner. All of that seemed indifferent to me. They didn't know… they had no clue. And who knew? Perhaps they could be his very next target…

I planted my headphones on my head and drowned out the city's noise with some Madeleine Peyroux. She fit my mood well with 'Weary Blues'.

Yes, I know. I wasn't having the best of days. I get it.

Spencer Reid was being a depressing little sucker right now.

I couldn't help it.

I warily eyed a couple of middle-aged woman, in heels too high and dresses too short for their age. I wondered if they knew of the dangers that lurked in this world, or if all they cared about were the useless purses and fur coats they had just purchased at the mall. I eyed them up and down, wondering if the unsub would consider them as potential future victims. I continued to watch them as they walked away towards the nearest parking lot.

Meh. They weren't his type anyway. Too old.

"Hey!"

I shook my head and my hand shot up to my hair as I ruffled it up. God, I needed a haircut. My hair was practically at shoulder length… it wasn't quite the reflection of a clean-cut image the FBI was promoting. I glanced at myself quickly in one of the large glass panels of a random store to my left. I looked like a mess. The permanent dark bags under my eyes seemed even darker this evening, making my face even gaunter, and my hair was all over the place. My eyes looked tired and I had a stubble of three days growing. I looked like a heroine-addict. I didn't look like I worked for the FBI either… maybe that was why no one really took me seriously there. I didn't blame them… I wore mismatched socks with anchor and dinosaur patterns, gave them random facts about Halloween when all they had done was ask me about my plans for the weekend. And to make things worse, Halloween wasn't even until a week and half!

I looked down at my feet and sighed.

I had to sort myself out.

Or my life out.

God…

"Oi!"

That's it. I had enough of feeling sorry for myself. I was sick of it and I was going to fix this. I was going to make everything better.

I was going to make myself some chicken noodle soup.

It always made me feel better. My mother used to cook that for me on the occasional day I returned home, feeling dejected and low, in addition to a few scrapes and bruises from the heavy bullying I sometimes had to undergo. This soup reminded me that no matter where I was, or where she was, no matter how many miles separated us in this country, I still had someone who loved me… who thought of me… who cared about me.

The thought brought a slight smile to my lips.

A smile that quickly disappeared when I felt a small hand grab my left arm from behind and yanked me backwards.

I yelped out of surprise.

I swiveled around angrily and pulled my headphones down.

"Son of a bitch, what—"

I stopped short when I recognized who it was. I immediately regretted what I had just shouted out loud. A few parents with children sent glares in my way, mentally scolding me for swearing so loudly in public.

I looked at the grey-eyed, sandy-haired girl in front of me.

I blinked.

"Uh… hey." I said with a slight wave.

She was panting slightly and she bent over a little to catch her breath. I guess she had been running after me. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was scattered all over her face. She straightened up and shoved her long fringe out of the way. I had never noticed how long her hair was, but it looked good on her. She always wore it in a ponytail when she worked at Starbucks. She was wearing a lot of eyeliner and mascara today, which made her bright eyes pop out more. I didn't know if it was for a special occasion, but I couldn't help noticing how nice she looked. I pushed those thoughts to the side as I realized how similar she looked to the victims of our current case. She gave me a smile before taking in a few more gulfs of fresh air.

"God!" she exclaimed. "I need to work out more!"

I chuckled as I pulled her to the side of the sidewalk, against an office building. I leaned against the glass panels and looked her up and down.

It had gotten much colder lately and she was dressed accordingly to the climate change. She was wearing a beige knitted cardigan with black skinny jeans, dark grey ankle high boots, a nice long blank and white scarf (that looked more like an actually blanket than a scarf) and a large black coat. She looked good. She looked older.

She noticed my appreciative look and laughed.

"You've never actually seen me out of the coffee shop!" she declared. "I don't walk around Quantico in my green apron all day, you know."

I quickly averted my stare away from her body and looked her in the eyes. I didn't want her to think I was checking her out completely… she was too young for me anyway. Way too young.

… But I was still a guy. I still had needs.

(Oh, don't act all shocked. We all know I'm a normal young adult, with normal young adult thoughts.)

I didn't get the chance to say anything more before she spoke again.

"I was calling out for you, but you didn't hear me. " she said. "You walked in front of the coffee shop just as I was closing it up. You looked upset so I was wondering what was up." She added a reassuring smile and clutched her handbag a little tighter to her chest as a gust of wind blew strongly in our direction.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." I answered. "I was pensive." It was all I could really say. I really didn't feel like delving in too deep out of fear of letting something slip. She was an easy person to talk to, my guard could be down with such an easy-going person; a person who actually bothered listening to the things I said.

We started walking in the same direction.

"So… what's up?" she asked me.

I shrugged and dug my hands in my front pants' pockets.

"Nothing. Just feeling under the weather, really." I said nonchalantly. I really didn't like lying to people so I usually kept it at a bare minimum. I'd also feel bad about lying to such a genuinely caring and nice, young girl. The less I said, the better. I owed her that.

"Oh." She said. "Want to go for a milkshake?" she said jovially. She saw the face I made and nudged me lightly on the arm. This girl was relentless. "You can't say no to a milkshake. Everyone loves milkshakes." She told me with a serious expression.

She wasn't giving up.

"I don't know…" I said hesitantly. I really just wanted to go home and rest for the remainder of the evening. I didn't really understand where her invite was coming from to be honest, and I was a little surprised. I didn't even know her name and I was willing to bet she didn't even know mine. We only ever spoke about coffee and studies. Did she suddenly think we were friends?

I realized with a quick gasp that maybe… just maybe she had a thing for me.

A _thing_ for me?

GOD Spencer, how old _were_ you?

Who even _said _that, these days?

I was so lame.

I was two seconds away from smacking myself in the forehead with the palm of my hand when she coughed rather loudly, shaking me from my idiotic thoughts.

"Come on. One milkshake!" she said, her eyes pleading. I didn't know if she was aware that she was coming off rather forcefully… but then again, I wasn't one to complain. She looked rather cute that way. Her eyes had a determined brightness in them and she was biting her bottom lip lightly, awaiting an answer on my part. And I knew she wouldn't give up until it was a response that would satisfy her. A gust of wind blew towards us again and her hair flew all over the place. Instead of rolling her eyes up in annoyance like any other girl her age would do at the prospect of fixing up messy hair, she merely looked up with her nose in the air and jovially laughed. She spun around quickly, enjoying the fresh air before focusing her attention back on me.

I blinked.

She was adorable.

I mentally slapped myself again.

SPENCER YOU CANNOT START THINKING OF GIRLS HER AGE THAT WAY.

Oh my God… she could _not_ be more that sixteen. What was a sixteen-year-old _doing_ asking a stranger like me out for a milkshake? Seriously!

"Has your mother never told you not to talk to strangers?" I told her. "Let alone invite them out for a milkshake?" I asked her amusedly. For all she knew, I was the unsub we were trying to catch. She was being such an easy target… I was slightly peeved with her about that. How could she make herself such an easy prey for the dangerous men that were out there… waiting? Was she not aware of the risks she was taking?

She scoffed and pushed her hair to the side as the wind swept it across her face again.

"First of all," she pointed an agitated index finger in my face, "I'm not _inviting _you for a milkshake! I'm a student for God's sake… pay your own milkshake. I'm not proposing to buy you one." I opened my mouth to retaliate but she was still speaking. I closed it shut again without muttering a single syllable. She was slightly terrifying when she wanted to be. (Oh God, look at me… a full-grown man whimpering in a corner because an unsettled teenage girl had her feathers ruffled up the wrong way). "Second of all, you're not exactly the biggest stranger on Earth mister Spencer Reid." My eyebrows flew way above my hairline as I heard her say my name. I didn't even know she knew that. I wondered if I had ever mentioned it to her.

"How did you know—"

"You write your name on the front page of every book you own." She answered back immediately. She smirked when my mouth fell open ever so slightly. She knew she had impressed me; I had no idea she was this observant. I opened my mouth again to say something.

And yet again… she cut me off.

I looked around desperately. At least no one of any importance could witness my embarrassing moment with this sixteen-year-old. She was eating me alive. I couldn't even squeeze the slightest word of protestation in her rant.

"Third of all, if you didn't want to have a milkshake with me, you can just say so."

"I—"

"And lastly, you're one to talk… do you even know _my_ name? Genius boy?" she finished with a smirk on her face. I was beginning to realize that that smirk was a trademark of hers. She was clearly enjoying our petty argument… I wish I could have said the same about myself. Somehow, being told off by a young teenage girl was not the funniest thing on my comedy list.

Again, I glanced sideways to see if anyone I knew was catching this highly mortifying moment on camera.

God, this girl sure had a snippy mouth.

"I… uh…" I stopped. She was right. She had me there… I didn't know her name.

She waited, and started tapping her right foot on the floor theatrically.

"I'm waiting." She said, pretending to be irritated. But really… I knew she was just teasing me.

(Oh God… was she flirting with me? This was so _wrong._)

"Er…" I was speechless. I really didn't know what to say. I was never good faced with the pressure of looking normal in front of the female gender. Especially her. She was more intimidating than I had first anticipated.

She laughed out loud. She stood in front of me, her handbag hiked up on her shoulder and her arms akimbo.

"Are you trying to tell me that, in the last few months I've been working at Starbucks, not _once_ had you even bothered looking down at my nametag?" she said. I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly, as I realized I was being completely destroyed by a girl who was about eight years my junior.

All of a sudden I was feeling much more depressed now than I had first been when I had left the FBI building.

"I wasn't aware Starbucks employees had nametags." I tried lamely. In all fairness, I never really bothered looking. I often just grabbed my coffee and read books and case files.

She looked unconvinced.

I didn't blame her. Really poor effort, Spence.

"You're lucky I don't get offended easily Mister _Reid_." Her deliberate emphasis on my name did not go by unnoticed. We had reached the end of the sidewalk and I looked at the red pedestrian stoplight. I wasn't sure if she was going the same way as me at the junction. I looked at her hesitantly but she made no sign of budging.

"I… er." Wow. I really _didn't_ know what to say. "I'm sorry?"

She threw me a sideways glance as the light turned green. We crossed the road and I was about to accept getting a milkshake with her when she spoke up.

"Well. I'm going this way." She pointed to the road on her left.. But I'll catch you around. " She flashed me a bright smile.

I frowned.

"What about those milkshakes?" I asked her. "On me?" I tried. As much as I hated to admit it (and with every fibre of my being telling me this was the wrong thing to do) I actually enjoyed spending some time with her. She was down to earth and she was extremely quick on her feet when it came to witty comebacks and strong retaliations. I liked that about her. If only I wasn't so tired and moody I probably would have tried arguing back a bit better. I guess round one went to her when it came to our petty squabbling.

She gave me a smile that looked sad more than anything.

"Nah, I'll take a rain check on that." She said.

I blinked.

"But you were the one that proposed." I pointed out. I was confused now. I didn't understand women.

"I'll only do it if you really want to."

"I want to."

She shook her head.

"No. Now you're just moping about the fact that I totally knew your name and you didn't know mine." She said. "So much for being a genius boy." She cackled evilly and her light grey eyes glinted mischievously. My eyes softened a little as I finally realized what I'd be missing out on tonight. She really was a pleasure to hang out with. And she cheered me up. That was something difficult to achieve with me lately.

"Well… let's fix that then." I said. "Make me less blue." I pouted.

A few drops started to fall as I waited for her name. I looked up at the sky. The clouds were black. I gulped.

She laughed at my facial expression and cocked her head to the side, a smile still gracing her radiant face. It was a wonder she didn't have any laughing lines yet. She was constantly grinning.

"Well… I guess I owe you that." She said. "The name's Elkie Vera, genius boy."

I nodded.

Elkie.

A Dutch name.

It fit the profile I gave her… she was foreign. That weird international accent of hers now made more sense: she was from Holland. I was about to ask her if she liked mayonnaise but I decided not to. Too soon to make jokes like that.

"Elkie." It sounded so foreign. It was different from the standard Sarah or Katie I was used to around here. I liked that.

"Yeah. But that's what my family calls me back in Holland. People just call me Ellis."

"The English variant." I stated.

She nodded.

"Ellis." I said. I slid off my tongue effortlessly and I liked the way it sounded even more.

"That's my name." She said with a small laugh. She brought her arms up and back down to her sides, as if owning up to a secret she'd been hiding.

"The name Ellis was primarily a boy's name but it could also be used for a baby girl. It was a name that was primarily used in the English and Welsh languages and its origin was mainly Welsh, English and Hebrew. From English roots, it meant 'My God is Yahweh', in other words, 'My God is the Lord'. Ellis was the anglicized form of Elias, from Elijah. In Wales, the name was used as an anglicized form of the Old Welsh name Elisud, which derived from 'elus', meaning 'kind, benevolent'. Widely more masculine than feminine, Ellis Bell was the pseudonym used by Emily Brontë when she first began publishing." I said in almost one breath.

Ellis blinked at me.

"Thanks for that speech on the origins of my name… geez." She said with an impressed laugh. "But I kind of knew that already." She informed me. I smiled back, happy that she wasn't too surprised by my little factual outbursts. That was always a good sign.

"I could tell you more—"

"That's fine!" she interjected before taking a few steps back. "But thanks Spencer!" she laughed again. "I'll see you around!" She turned around and started walking away.

"It's not too late for that milkshake!" I said a bit louder, hoping she heard me. I didn't want to sound desperate but she really was intriguing.

She merely waved her hand at me without turning around.

—TSF—

"So… you mind telling me who this pretty woman of yours is?" Morgan asked me coyly, the next day, as he slid next to me and sat on my desk. I was sitting in my chair, twirling a pen in my hand and reading this really captivating article on this mathematical paradox I had been doing research on.

I gave him a blank stare.

Morgan crossed his arms over his chest. His muscles bulged out of his shirt.

"I wasn't aware there was a gun show today. I should have bought my ticket." I mumbled, before refocusing my attention on the computer screen. I heard Prentiss chuckle at her desk behind me and I guess she heard me.

"Don't change the subject pretty boy." Morgan declared, edging a little closer to me. Dangerously close. I looked up at him again. I spared him an annoyed glance. On any normal day, he would have loved the fact that I had made some sort of comment about his bulging biceps and his shirt that looked two sizes too small for him.

"What was the subject again?"

"Oh come on Reid. We all know there's a new woman in your life."

I swiveled around in my chair to look at Prentiss to see if she was agreeing with Morgan's statement. She was pretending to look through some papers on her desk, but I knew she had been listening to every word of our conversation. For an FBI profiler, she really did _suck_ at pretending to do something.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said, returning my focus on Morgan.

I really didn't like it when he intruded on my personal life—it reminded me of how pathetic it was compared to his.

"Of course you don't." Morgan scoffed. "You never do. No, but seriously, what's her name?"

"What's whose name?"

"You know who I'm talking about."

"I'm afraid, I don't. I'm terribly sorry."

Morgan groaned and threw his hands up in the air.

"Oh, come _on_!" He exclaimed. "It's really not that hard to tell! I know you Reid. And I know when that silly, little, brilliant mind of yours is preoccupied by a certain lady." He flicked me on the forehead and I swatted his hand away in annoyance. God, this man could be as irritating as an eight-year-old kid on a sugar high.

"You must be mistaken, because the only thing my silly, little, brilliant mind of mine is preoccupied with at this very moment is this case." I said. That wasn't a lie. "Which doesn't seem to be going anywhere." I added, adopting a slight accusing tone. We were supposed to give out the profile today, and all Morgan seemed to be doing was questioning me about my love life.

Or lack of, to be more precise.

Morgan wasn't giving up. His mouth was closed shut and his jaw was firmly set. I could even see it clicking a little.

"You're not going to let this go are you?" I asked him pathetically.

He shook his head no.

"Not a chance, kid."

"Well… I apologize, but there is nothing new in my personal life." I told him lamely. "So just drop it."

I heard Prentiss snort behind me.

"I told you so Morgan. Reid's love life is as bland as the coffee I'm drinking this morning." She said from behind. Considering the coffee from the FBI building was usually as strong as water, I turned around to face her and gave her a look.

"Gee Emily, tell us how you really feel." I told her sarcastically.

Both Morgan and Prentiss started laughing really loudly.

I turned around to face my desk again and rested my forehead on it and closed my eyes.

I was working with two high school pricks.

"So who is it?"

"Who?" I mumbled into the wood of my desk.

"We're not doing this again, Reid."

"Doing what?"

"You're not serious?"

"Am I not?"

"She's cute though, I don't see why you're hiding her. I was quite impressed."

"I'm not—wait." I paused. "_What_?" I looked up and stared at him incredulously.

He didn't see her. He couldn't have seen her.

Morgan grinned. "Ah, I seem to have finally caught your attention. So there _is_ a woman involved!" he exclaimed in triumph and looked behind me at Prentiss.

I heard her mutter, "Well… I'll be damned."

I turned around and glared at her.

"Again, Emily. Spare me your sentiments"

She stuck her tongue out at me.

"So?" Morgan asked.

"So what?" I retaliated.

"If you start this again I swear I will cut you." Morgan threatened.

I gave up.

"Where did you see her?" I asked incredulously.

Morgan shrugged.

"Last night. I saw you guys talking not long after we left the building." He stated matter-of-factly. "Well… not so much _talking_. She was totally owning you." he said with a snicker.

I blinked as the information sunk in.

"You…" I paused, gathering my thoughts. "You were _spying_ on me?" I cried out. I _knew _someone was out there! I should have looked better…

Morgan looked sheepish. "I was just a little bit curious… that's all."

"So that gave you a reason to _follow_ me?"

Morgan inched away from me a little, sensing danger.

"You should really stop emphasizing every word in your sentence, Reid. It's kind of scary and I—"

"I'll _emphasize_ every goddamn single _word_ I want!" I told him, slightly peeved. I leant back in my chair and glared at him. He was treating me like a little child who thought girls still had cooties. I wasn't _that_ much younger than him. For God's sake, he really had to stop taking the piss out of me. I was no innocent, little virginal fourteen-year-old boy. I had my fun.

Okay, my fun was not even anywhere near the amounts of _fun_ Morgan had with the countless girls he hooked up with but _still._

Oh God, this was mortifying.

And he was making a big deal out of nothing. I didn't even think of Ellis that way. Sure, she was cute. But she was _young_. We were just acquaintances being friendly with each other. Why did he have to see every single woman I talked to as a potential future girlfriend of mine? It was aggravating.

"Dude—"

"And you should stop snooping around my life. I really don't appreciate it at all." I added, still sending him an angry look.

He didn't seem fazed by it at all.

"Again, it's not something I'm used to seeing so I was just—"

"You were just _what_?" I asked him out of exasperation.

I could hear Prentiss chuckling quietly to herself behind me. At least one person in this room was enjoying themselves.

"I was just checking out your moves." He said. "Checking out the competition." He chopped the last word in several, distinct syllables, giving it more significance. I think he was trying to render the atmosphere a little lighter. Morgan didn't realize the shit he'd be in when he started this conversation.

I scoffed.

"Oh, because suddenly you consider _me_ competition? You're Derek fucking Morgan!" I said. I was lucky my voice didn't carry out as much as his did. I didn't have a deep, booming voice like other men in the FBI had. If I did, I'm pretty sure Hotch would have stomped out of his office, asking me to see him for misconduct.

Luckily for me, he was in another meeting with Strauss, so I was in the clear.

Morgan laughed and wiped the inexistent dust off his shoulders. Oh my God, sometimes the guy could be so unbearable. All I wanted to do was strangle him right there and see his eyeballs pop out of their sockets, like the kind of things kids saw in cartoons. That was exactly how I felt about Derek Morgan right now.

What an asshole.

"Hey, as unbelievable as this may sound," started Morgan, "I hear your name on many women's tongues around the building." I scoffed.

"Sure."

Morgan raised my eyebrows.

"I'm not kidding, kid. If you asked Miranda Morelli to accompany you in the file room for a quick make-out sesh, I highly doubt she'd say no—"

"Okay!" I interrupted him loudly. He was making me uncomfortable. Especially since Miranda was nothing close to the hot, classy, young woman I so longed for at the moment. No, she was a middle-aged, slightly oversized woman with flaming red hair that was so badly dyed, and nails that were as long as my di—

Ahem.

Nails as long as JJ's hair.

"Well… I was being nice when I said make-out sesh… I've heard there were other things on her mind. More interesting things than just having you stick your tongue down her throat—"

I wanted to gag.

"Can we please change the subject?" I pleaded. I gave Prentiss a look but she ignored me. I saw Rossi walking past us with a file in his hands and I called out loud, " Rossi?"

He held his hand up without looking up from the file and headed towards his desk.

"I don't want to hear it kid. Your problem not mine."

I really _did_ have the best coworkers in the world didn't I?

"So what's her name?"

I sighed.

"Can we please stop this?"

"When you answer all my questions, Reid."

Morgan was unstoppable.

"Her name's Ellis." I said dejectedly. Why was everyone overpowering me these days? First a sixteen-year-old girl and now it was _Morgan_.

"Cute." Morgan said roughly. I was sure that if I asked him her name again in an hour or so he wouldn't remember. He was just happy to have successfully squeezed that piece of information out of me.

I shrugged.

"She's just an acquaintance."

And it was the truth, too.

Morgan wasn't convinced.

"Considering I don't often see you around much female company, I have a hard time believing that, kid." He said. "But if I may say… isn't she a little too young for you?"

I chucked my ballpoint pen at him.

He yelped and ducked just in time before straightening back up and glaring at me.

"There is nothing!" I tried again.

Morgan clicked his tongue on the inside of his cheek several times. "And you expect me to believe that?"

I slammed my hands down on my desk.

"Oh my God!" I cried out. "We are _not_ romantically involved! She gives me coffee at Starbucks every morning and that's it!"

"Doesn't seem like coffee's the only thing she gives you every morning…" I heard Rossi mumbled.

I whirled around to glare at him.

"Oh so now you want to take part in this conversation, Rossi?" I exclaimed. "I don't think you have a say in this… your relationships with the ladies hasn't exactly been _stellar_ now has it?" I said. Rossi clamped his mouth shut immediately and returned his attention to his file. I turned around to face Prentiss. "Your love-life is just about as inexistent as mine, maybe even worse, so I don't see why you're allowed to make fun of me! All you do is work and go home to your precious little cat and eat dinner on your own and go to bed. You don't even go to the movies with me for a little fun!" I exclaimed. I then whirled around in my chair again to face Morgan. "And _you_. Sure, you get _all_ the ladies you desire, but how long does that _last_? A night? And I'm willing to bet they're not your biggest fans when you creep out of their beds in the morning to go home when they're still asleep!" I had added large hand gestures the whole time to accompany my monologue and to prove a point. I think it worked.

I stopped to catch my breath. They were being unbearably annoying today… or maybe it was just the terrible mood I had been harboring lately. I didn't know what was making me so irritable but it felt damn good letting it loose against my coworkers. They had a way of getting under my skin.

Morgan blew out one, low whistle.

"Dang kid, I didn't know you had it in you."

I looked back at Morgan, suddenly feeling ashamed of my little outburst. I immediately regretted taking my anger out on them. It wasn't their fault I couldn't sleep at night. Nor was it their fault that there was a psycho serial killer out loose in the state of Virginia. And they had absolutely nothing to do with my mother being housed in a clinic for the mentally deranged people. It wasn't their fault I couldn't see her more than three times a year.

I lowered my eyes and quietly refocused my attention back to my computer screen. The mathematical paradox was now the furthest thing from my mind thanks to them.

"Sorry." I mumbled, not bothering to look at any of them in the eye.

I hadn't paid any attention to all the other people in the room, but I had realized our working premises had grown uncomfortably silent after my sudden eruption. I was glad that Morgan had finally taken the hint that I was in no mood to talk about Ellis with him. There was nothing to talk about anyway.

"You're very defensive. You must like her a lot." He said in a pensive manner, more to himself than to me.

I peered up at him.

I should have known.

When it came to my personal life, Derek Morgan could _not_ take a fucking hint.

"She's nobody. She's just this girl that gives me—"

I heard a cough behind us.

Morgan gave me a look which basically said 'I'm glad you didn't finish that sentence' before straightening up. I turned around for what felt like the thousandth time today, to look up at the serious eyes of our unit chef supervisor.

Uh-oh.

"Local PD just called." He said in his solemn Hotchner voice. A voice that told us he did not want to know what we had been talking about. I wondered how long he'd been in the room without us noticing. I raised my eyebrows, expecting good news. "They found another body."

My shoulders slumped.

Great… just what I wanted.

"Same victimology?" Rossi questioned.

Hotchner nodded. "Same MO." He answered. "The victim's leg was amputated post-mortem."

"A missing leg?" I asked.

Hotchner nodded again and wasted no time.

"She was found in a dumpster along Bears Road, near Burrows elementary school. One of the school janitors found her as he was throwing the trash out this morning."

I frowned at the news. I had spent all night thinking about it – which resulted in me only getting about two hours of sleep tops – and although I knew something like this was inevitable I wasn't expecting it to happen so soon. It was upsetting me. I hoped at least that we'd find something remotely helpful this time.

I looked up to hear the sound of Hotch's voice speaking up.

"We'll split in two teams," he declared. "Prentiss and Reid: you guys go to the crime scene to try and dig up whatever you can and see if the victim matches our unsub's profile. Rossi, Morgan and I will go to the local PD and give it out. We've completed it."

Everyone was gathering their bags and their coats. I hadn't moved.

"What was her name?" I suddenly piped up. I had been following Hotch with my eyes ever since he told us what to do, and he was halfway across the room by the time I spoke up. The others looked at me curiously.

Hotch paused.

"Lily." He said. "Her name was Lily Cohen."

—TSF—

I lifted the plastic cover with my thumb and index finger gingerly before bending over a little more to get a closer look at our new victim, Lily. I felt a slight tug at the pit of my stomach when I realized she was probably the same age as all the other victims we had found.

I looked at her face.

My sharp intake of breath alerted Prentiss who, at a couple of feet away, was furiously scribbling notes in her notepad about clues found in the crime scene.

I couldn't even call it a face anymore. I had seen a picture of a smiling Lily Cohen before coming to the crime scene and I could tell for a fact that her face had been so severely mutilated to the point of ending up beyond recognition. She had severe gashes across the entirety of her face. Her left eye had been gouged out and her nose was broken. Her cheekbones, prominent features on her face, had been both crushed. Her lips looked like they'd been put in a blender and a few of her teeth were gone. I took a closer look and noticed that a majority of the ends of her hair were burnt completely. As a matter of fact I could still smell the charring scent of burnt hair. It reminded me of a pigsty. I wanted to throw up my breakfast right then and there but I had seen enough murdered bodies in my short lifetime to exert sufficient self-control against doing so.

The crime scene investigators had already found the most important clues around… which weren't much. It was very windy this time of the year… any chance of a hair lying around was close to none. They searched the area for prints and blood as well but came up with nothing. We were lucky that it wasn't raining today. That would have been hell. It was as cloudy as yesterday, but they looked less menacing.

"It's been ten days." Prentiss said and I turned sideways to find her looking down with a distraught frown on her elegant face. "This is not good. Either the killer wants the attention… or he's losing control." I nodded in agreement but narrowed my eyes a little as I lifted the plastic cover entirely off her body.

She was naked… not that it mattered anyway… what was left of Lily Cohen's body didn't even look like anything human.

I heard Prentiss sigh out of woe and I couldn't help let my shoulders slump.

Her body was an exact replica of her face: except the gashes were much bigger and deeper and she was missing an entire limb. She had been burned in several places, notably on the upper body where her breasts were—

—yes… I did say _were_.

Her stomach was cut wide open by the biggest gash I had ever seen in my whole life. It ran from the knee of her right leg (the only one left), across her whole body, to finally reach her left collarbone. It was absolutely, and single-handedly the most horrifying site I had ever witnessed in my twenty-four years of age.

And—this came to no surprise—she was completely eviscerated. This was the same killer for sure.

"There's something that puzzles me." I stated, covering the body entirely from head to toe. We had seen enough.

"What is that?" Prentiss said, jotting down in her notepad what we had just seen.

"Well…" I raised my eyebrows briefly, something I was told I did often when I was about to give useless facts or just talk about something I had discovered. "On a first observation, it _does _seem that the killer wants to leave his victims in such a state in order to shock the public and thus to get the correct level of media coverage he so desperately seeks."

"Yeah…" Prentiss made a face that showed I wasn't telling her anything new. "And?"

I chewed on my bottom lip mindlessly.

"Well… if this body's no different from the others—which I'm sure it isn't—"

"Get to the point, Reid." She was growing impatient.

"Well, the victims have all been tortured to no end but… a lot of the worst injuries we see, such as the gouged out eye, the missing teeth, the burnt hair are wounds inflicted on the body post-mortem. They're signs of a killer who had been enjoying playing around with a dead corpse—"

"Necrophilia?" Prentiss suggested.

I shook my head.

"No, there have not been any traces of sexual abuse on the victims whether it was prior to their death or following it." I said. "So, you can imagine why I'm puzzled by all of this. If we rely on the profile we had given out to the local PD, and we're very rarely wrong with our profiles may I so modestly add, then we'd be dealing with a sex-crazed killer who would mutilate the body as much as possible _while the victim was still alive_ in order to obtain his sexual release. The agony in their eyes, the silent begging in their final jagged breaths… _that_ is what helps him reach his climax, a culmination he can never get to because of his impotence during his everyday life's failed endeavors. If we're right, we'd be dealing with a killer who'd be hitting two birds with one stone: on the one hand, he'd be getting that sexual release he needed desperately and on the other, he'd have an absolutely atrociously vandalized body to greet his audience _and_ make the front page of every newspaper."

Prentiss was having a hard time to follow. I could tell by the way she stared blankly at me.

"Are… you saying that we got the profile wrong?" she asked me.

I shook my head.

"No, like I said. I think we've got a pretty strong profile going on here. I just don't understand one thing."

"And what's that?" she asked me.

"After he reaches his climax and kills his victims by opening them up and letting them bleed to death… why would he still need to play around with them dead?" I scratched the back of my neck. "Normally, with these kinds of killers, after they get what they wanted the first thing on their mind is getting rid of the body There comes a period of relaxation, of calmness and relief that quickly follows the sexual release of an unsub. This naturally marks a complete 360 turn in his mind, and he wants nothing more to do with the body anymore."

"Yet… this one continues to fondle with his victims' bodies. He burns patches. Drills holes. Gouges eyes out and breaks bones." Prentiss pondered.

"This kind of post-mortem mutilation has nothing sexual about it. It's pent-up anger. True rage." I said.

"It's personal." Prentiss completed.

I nodded.

"So you're saying the victims have a bigger connection than just their appearance?"

I straightened up and stood next to her, looking down at the body underneath the plastic sheet. There it was again: the tug at the pit of my stomach. To know that this young woman was only beginning what was surely going to be a successful and accomplished life shattered my hopes with humanity. Humans were just a waste of space. We destroyed the planet we were lucky to be living on and abused of our power as a superior race to not only exploit the limited resources we had but also to commit the worst act condemned by God. Killing some of our own.

It was a cruel world.

"I can't be sure. But I think so."

Prentiss quickly wrote all of our assumptions down in her notepad. It was definitely something we were going to bring up all together with the team in the conference tonight.

"There's something else as well." Prentiss said. She knelt down and lifted the plastic cover to reveal the victim's head. "Well, look at her eyes—I mean…_ eye_." She corrected herself. "It's wide open. And her body was left in the dumpster, albeit it was partially hidden, but it wasn't covered by anything. It was left exposed, naked, to all the elements, to everyone. She was _dumped_ there. The unsub didn't particularly care about placing her in a certain position. There's no remorse… no guilt." She paused.

Such cruelty was something I had never witnessed this up close. I was struggling to wrap my head around it all and I didn't want the rest of the teammates, Morgan especially, to see me like this…

"Hm."

"Do you think we're dealing with a sociopath? The rage and violence of his kills seems to point in that direction." Prentiss carried on. "Our killer is absolutely furious, and he lets it all out on his victims: tearing them apart, dismembering them… mutilating every single part of their body..." Prentiss couldn't bring herself to say more.

I shook my head slowly.

"I don't think so…" I trailed off. "A sociopath is more overwhelmed by his emotions and his rage. He easily becomes disorganized and rash and ends up doing sloppy killings, which makes it easier for people like us to catch him. This…" I motioned to the body lying in front of us. "This is not the work of a sociopath. The fact that our unsub has managed to kill six women—and maybe more—without us noticing it shows that he's more careful and cunning than we seem to be giving him credit for." I stated.

Prentiss nodded in agreement.

"So complete psychopath." She muttered.

I hated to admit it, but it was true.

"The worst kind." I added with a sigh. "He's cold and calculating and he feels zero remorse. He doesn't understand the boundaries and most of the time, he will not be able to distinguish the right from the wrong. No repentance. No guilt. No penitence. He's a cold-blooded killer." I finished.

No soul.

No conscience.

"We should call the others to update the profile", Prentiss said immediately.

I couldn't agree more.

—TSF—

It had been a few days since we had given the profile and JJ had gone to the press to release all the details. She gave out the complete profile we had ultimately finalized and released details about the victimology of his targets. The media had already started calling him the _'The Princess Butcher'_. It was cringe-worthy to say the least but at least the women concerned were more cautious.

Well at least _everyone_ was cautious… how could they not with the breaking news of a serial killer on the loose in Quantico? It wasn't the biggest city in America, and people here were very attentive on a daily basis. If anything raised any suspicion we could trust the people of this city to act on it rationally by calling the police or the FBI's tip line. JJ had made sure to point out that at this point, anyone could be a target.

I couldn't sleep on Sunday night and so, by Monday morning, I was up bright and early and was already queuing up for my daily gingerbread latte at my usual Starbucks coffee shop. I knew that Ellis had early shifts on Monday mornings and I was looking forward to seeing her and having her cheer my up with her useless teenage rants and daily babble. It was refreshing and she took my mind off the case, my mother and… my depressing life.

It was sad, when I put it that way… that my short spurs of happiness depended on the presence of a certain high school girl but it was true. I couldn't talk to my coworkers without thinking of all the cases that used to (and were still) giving me nightmares. As much as I appreciated their company and the special family bond we had created over seeing some of the worst horrors in life, I couldn't bring myself to be truly joyful and happy around them. I needed other people. One of them was my mother… and she wasn't here with me.

Being part of the FBI never really gave me much time to go out and socialize with other people outside of work, and when I did it, it was mostly with Morgan. It was easy to understand how nights with Morgan went. The female attention was mostly focused on him and his biceps, leaving me at the bar attempting to impress a few ladies with some of my most popular magic tricks. Albeit, those _did _manage to get me laid a couple of times, I never felt like I had any true friends, other than those from the BAU.

It was mildly depressing.

But I had been telling myself over and over again that things could have always ended up worse: I could have ended up in a dumpster behind some random building, with my stomach slashed open and my insides taken out.

I cringed.

It was barely seven thirty in the morning and I was already thinking about dead bodies. I was terrible.

"Hi." I said lightly as I reached the counter. " A gingerbread latte to go please." I said to the young man in front of me.

Ellis wasn't at the counter this morning, instead, she was found right next to her coworker, making the drinks. There was a long line of commuters already waiting this morning—it was a Monday morning after all—and they needed as many hands as they could get. It was a stormy day again, and I could hear the wind picking up from inside. The rain was pouring down hard and the commuters were all shoving each other, trying to not be stuck outside in the terrible weather. They were all dressed in dark colors and they all grumbled grumpily. It was putting me in a foul mood.

I paid for my latte and walked slowly to the other end of the machines, at the other counter, to wait for my drink.

"Hi". I said again. This time it was directed at her.

She was steaming up the milk for my latte and gave me a slight smile before refocusing her attention back on the milk. I could tell something was off the moment she smiled. It wasn't her usually ear-to-ear grin, and although I was aware of the fact that I hadn't known her for long (hell, I had only figured out her name the day before!) I knew her long enough to realize when she forced a smile.

Maybe she was having a horrible day, too.

_That_ would be a first.

I waited for her to say something.

I came up dry.

She wasn't one to strike up the conversation today it seemed.

_That_ was a first, too.

"How are you?" I finally asked.

She shrugged.

"Could be better."

That was definitely a euphemism if I ever heard one. Her face was wearing a constant frown and she wasn't wearing any make-up today. Not that it changed anything. It made her natural beauty stand out more.

I blinked.

Spencer snap out of it.

"Oh?" I asked, trying to put inappropriate mental images out of my head.

She had poured the coffee in a carton cup, quickly followed by the gingerbread syrup and the steamed milk before sprinkling my drink with my favorite toppings. She then handed it to me and I thanked her.

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep." She informed me and I couldn't help chuckle inwardly to myself. Even lack of sleep could defeat the high and mighty Ellis Vera. "I don't do well without sleep." She said with a laugh. This time it was a little more genuine and she looked me in the eyes. They softened a little when I offered a reassuring smile.

"Join the club." I mumbled, trying to sound good-naturedly. I'm pretty sure it ended up making me sound like some pathetic middle-aged, whiny man with a bald patch on his head and horrible coffee laced with nicotine breath.

She said nothing momentarily as she heard the next order. A few commuters sent glares my way, probably thinking I was slowing down the process of them getting their coffees but I glared back. I didn't care about their judgmental stares. I was tired and unhappy today, and their palpable glumness was not soothing me. I looked at her just as she sent me an apologetic glance before refocusing her attention at her task at hand.

It was mildly disturbing me that Ellis was the one feeling the most under the weather today. She had seemed so cheerful last time I saw her and I was so used to her radiating exultance that seeing her slightly low today was unsettling me. She was the closest thing to stable happiness I could find at the moment and if she was feeling sad who else could I turn to in hopes of lifting my spirits?

I shook my head. I was being a selfish bastard.

Here Ellis was, obviously slightly upset over something and all I could think about was myself.

"What's really wrong?" I asked her. I was an FBI profiler. It was easy for me to tell when one was not only upset over a few lost hours of sleep. She was in the middle of making a cappuccino for the man currently sending me a look that killed, but spared me a glance. It was a look that told me she didn't want to talk about it. I was not like Morgan. I could take a hint.

I took a sip out of my gingerbread latte and took out a piece of paper. I quickly scribbled my number on it and wrote a small note on the side.

'_I've been told I read (no pun intended) people quite well. And I swear I'm a good listener. Call me if you need anything.'_

"Ellis." I called out and she looked at me. She was giving me the same glance she gave me two seconds ago but then took notice of the little piece of paper I was sliding over the counter to her. She grabbed it quickly and put it in her apron pocket without reading it. She probably had an idea what it was about. She flashed me a short smile. It was time for me to go. I wasn't going to squeeze anything more out of her.

I turned around and was halfway to the door. The queue of commuters had grown longer and most of them were trooping in, completely soaked from the rain. The usual colorful Starbucks with its funky yellow, green and maroon wallpaper designs and unique furnishings were darkly tainted in grey and gloomy shades because of the weather outside. I looked at the somber shadows the couches were casting on the wooden floor and I couldn't help thinking that even my comfort zone seemed lifeless and cold at the moment.

I trudged out into the rain, with my messenger back on my head and my gingerbread latte in my free hand, without giving the coffee shop another backwards glance.

I ran towards the BAU building and rushed inside before the rain drenched me to the bone. My hair stuck to my forehead and the back of my neck and I shook my head sideways roughly like a dog to get rid of the huge droplets of rain before making my way to the elevator.

If there was one thing I was looking forward to today, it was drinking my nice warm(ish) latte in the comfort of my own desk with the rest of the team nearby. If there were some people who understood how I felt at the moment, it was them. And that was a comforting thought.

Shortly after ten, after approximately two hours and a half of steadily studying maps and reports of the victims' parents' interviews, I was ready to give up. I couldn't come up with anything. It was unbelievable. I was starting to fear that we'd never be able to catch our killer. He was like smoke. Fingers couldn't catch smoke.

I was contemplating getting myself a horrible cup of coffee from the break room when suddenly my phone rang.

It very rarely rang, and when it did it was often a call from the BAU team. I checked caller ID and didn't recognize the number that was displayed on it. I clicked the green phone icon and pressed the phone to my ear.

"Hello, Spencer Reid speaking?"

The only thing I could hear on the other end of the line was heavy rain hitting the pavement and an upset girl's voice speak. "Spencer?"

I blinked.

I recognized her voice immediately.

"Ellis?" I asked. Morgan looked up from his desk, sending me a questioning glance while a sly smile slowly crept over his face.

I turned my back on him and ignored his childish antics.

"Yeah. Listen… I need to talk to you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

**First and foremost, I wish you all a very happy Christmas! I hope you all got what you wished for and that you've had a lovely time with your family. I know I've been blessed with wonderful people and a wonderful home and I'm grateful for these things every single day of my life. :)**

**NOW, back to business! Here is my present to you guys as I promised not long ago on my profile. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. WE NOW KNOW HER NAME. WOOHOO. Of course I wasn't going to hold out on it for too long. And ooh, what are these new developments on the case? Hmmm? Things are not reaching their most interesting part yet but don't worry my fellow readers, we shall get there eventually!**

**So since everyone is chilling at home during the holidays (at least, I hope!), it would be awesomely nice of you guys to tell me what you thought of this chapter! How it was written. Things you liked? Things you liked less? Spencer's relationship with his coworkers? How about your opinion on Ellis' and Spencer's brief interactions? I've already had a few comments about Ellis' age after I updated this story with its first chapter. All I have to say to those questions and comments is that I have thought it all out in advance and each and every one of your enquiries will be, in time, answered in this story. So you'll just need to wait and find out!**

**I know that Spencer Reid's mind will surely not conform to all of your expectations. As you may have probably noticed by the end of this chapter, I've been trying to shape Reid to fit how I wanted him to be like in this story. I think it might be refreshing to have a different perspective on Reid's personality. I felt like a more solemn, dark and sexually blunt Reid was in order for this story. Although, trust me, he _does_ have his funny/odd moments. Because we can never get sick of those... :) So yeah! If you think Reid is too OOC, it's probably because I shaped him to be so. No hard feelings.**

**Okay (phew, what an AN), I'll leave you all with another MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR! Perhaps a little present (such as a... oh I don't know a review?) on your part as a reader would be great! (Nothing too big you know... I was thinking something along the lines of...a review?)**

**You are all wonderful for reading and I thank all of those who reviewed my previous chapter!**


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